Tall Tales
by Dogmeat
Summary: THis is a monologue (I hope I spelled that right) told by a town guardsman during the opening days of the War of the Lance, who has just learned that childrens stories can prove fatally true indeed... Somebody PLEASE review this story!!!


Author's Note: Whenever I write a good story, a lot of "garbage" is produced. I'm talking about things like stories I started but never finished, forgotten and (upon reflection) stupid story ideas etc. I wrote this story, of all places, during my final exams in high school. You're not supposed to take test paper out of the exam hall afterwards, but I managed to sneak the rough copy of this story out in my pocket. When I got home, I decided it wasn't that good after all, and threw it into my garbage box. It stayed there, completely forgotten, for six months. Last week, I was so impressed with the reviews I was getting for my first story on this site, "The Spoils of War", that I started going through this pile in vain search of something postable. I found this story, and decided that was an okay story after all, considering that, after receiving my exam results, the extended writing test was one of the few tests that I actually passed. It takes place during those starting days of the War of the Lance, when dragons were still considered nothing but legend.  
  
TALL TALES By GrandKlaive  
  
Oh, how I detest the sunlight.  
  
Why must that glowing sphere, that infernal orb, rise this day? Why can't it just let me dwell within the darkened halls of my own suffering?  
  
Why must it shed it's cursed light over the distant horizon, and reveal the carnage here?  
  
The villagers warned us of the coming slaughter, of the sounds of beating wings, heralding the imminent pain and suffering. As the town guards, it was our duty to respond, to sound the alarm, to help the citizens flee.  
  
But we merely laughed at them. We told them that dragons were merely fables, tales weaved in the minds of bards, desperate for a room and a tankard of ale. That they were only believed in by paranoid historians, who considered these tall stories true, and feared their wrath.  
  
But we were wrong. Soon, we heard the sounds of wings, too. The brilliant lightning and booming thunder had dulled our ears to the sound. I called the guards together, ordered them to prepare for the coming attack. But we were too late.  
  
Fireballs began to rain down on us, screaming spheres of death that instantly killed those it hit. The victims didn't scream, didn't cry out in pain. No blood was shed from their bodies on impact. They were simply incinerated. Upon reflection, I think those people were the fortunate ones.  
  
Fire continued to rain from the sky, our unseen foe doing as much damage as possible in the first wave. Several of these projectiles impacted with the houses, quickly setting the wood alight. An unstoppable blaze was burning through the town, destroying all that we had laboured to build over the decades. The inns, the taverns, the guard house, even the church collapsed into it's fire-ravaged frame.  
  
It was now, when the town was defenceless, that the evil leviathan made its appearance. It landed in the town square, where we had all foolishly gathered to escape the flames. We had been rounded up like cattle to the slaughter, and we knew it. Fire blocked all our exits. We turned back to the dragon, who made a hideous, razor-toothed grin, one that told us all one thing; we were going to die.  
  
Many people were slaughtered that night. I saw things that would have made even the bravest and battle-hardened warrior cower and whimper. I saw women and children impaled on the beast's mighty claws, and then thrown to the ground, their lifeblood flowing enthusiastically over the cobblestones. I saw other soldiers slow-roasted from the creatures breath. They didn't die like the first casualties. These ones suffered. They writhed and screamed in agony, their clothes ablaze, their eyes bursting from the heat and pussing down their cheeks like tears, their skin opening in long, bleeding gashes, revealing quivering muscle and organs beneath to the all- consuming heat.  
  
But nothing compares to this. Nothing compares to the bloodied ruins I now see before my eyes. The dragon left several hours ago. I had managed to hide by diving into a well. But now, I envy the dead, for they do not have to see what is left, what remains after the sun's rays hit the once-proud town. The skeletal, burned out remains stretch out before my eyes, the only things left standing. The bodies. the bodies are everywhere, charred shells of the life that once dwelled within.  
  
The sunlight reveals all this to me.  
  
I hate the sunlight. 


End file.
